Thursday, August 17, 2006
The arrest of Captain Underpants
I'm jazzed and stoked; just survive today and tomorrow (people keep spilling buckets of stupid!) and I can dive headlong into the home renovation project. 
And it could come any sooner; I clocked out for lunch at work 10 minutes early because nothing is working right, and still have a replacement order to place because it won't flipping go. Nothing further has been done to my john since last entry, and I got confirmation last night that had I attempted to take down the medicine chest I would have been stopped.
I started telling my bride about some mindless situation at work, sitting on the couch around 2am this morning, and the Ambien got the best of her; she interrupted me to say, "We had to deal with a malodorous black man jacking off in the magazine section [of the library she works in]... Nothing in your day can beat that." I have to admit, she was correct. That simply doesn't compare to seeing why the previous tech didn't leave notes on what he told the customer to do, which was because the mail program the tech told the guy to download and spent the next hour on the phone with while it was coming in slooowly was incompatable with the man's office mail system. The gentleman, however, did not have to ask me to transfer him to "a more experienced technician" when I explained this fact and read the details of what mail programs do what from the PDA manufacturer's website to show what he downloaded ain't gonna work for his purposes. Obliging his request, I transferred him to Mr. Dialtone in our Whiny Customer Queue.
Our dear aunt in Arizona had her phone number changed so her daughter, a 40-year-old crack whore in Seattle, couldn't call her for money several times a day. As a concession, she gave her daughter our phone number to call in case of emergency. Running out of cigarettes is an emergency to her. Grrr. That's the biggest stupidity of the week.
We have the final batch of tiles and some tasty grey grout with matching adhesive, and we should be getting the tile saw from a coworker today. We will be attending a seminar on Saturday afternoon atHome Depot Lowe's, where Homer Ginger will tell us everything we need to know about retiling a floor, and while these seminars are weekly we never seem to find out about them until hours after they end (else we would get up earlier, maybe). There's so much to do, and some order they should be done in, and we have only nine days in which to do them... these steps take time, such as how laying the flooring requires five days, a fact they never seem to mention on HGTV's programs. Anyhow, you'll be kept apprised with really lousy photos.
And it could come any sooner; I clocked out for lunch at work 10 minutes early because nothing is working right, and still have a replacement order to place because it won't flipping go. Nothing further has been done to my john since last entry, and I got confirmation last night that had I attempted to take down the medicine chest I would have been stopped.I started telling my bride about some mindless situation at work, sitting on the couch around 2am this morning, and the Ambien got the best of her; she interrupted me to say, "We had to deal with a malodorous black man jacking off in the magazine section [of the library she works in]... Nothing in your day can beat that." I have to admit, she was correct. That simply doesn't compare to seeing why the previous tech didn't leave notes on what he told the customer to do, which was because the mail program the tech told the guy to download and spent the next hour on the phone with while it was coming in slooowly was incompatable with the man's office mail system. The gentleman, however, did not have to ask me to transfer him to "a more experienced technician" when I explained this fact and read the details of what mail programs do what from the PDA manufacturer's website to show what he downloaded ain't gonna work for his purposes. Obliging his request, I transferred him to Mr. Dialtone in our Whiny Customer Queue.
Our dear aunt in Arizona had her phone number changed so her daughter, a 40-year-old crack whore in Seattle, couldn't call her for money several times a day. As a concession, she gave her daughter our phone number to call in case of emergency. Running out of cigarettes is an emergency to her. Grrr. That's the biggest stupidity of the week.
We have the final batch of tiles and some tasty grey grout with matching adhesive, and we should be getting the tile saw from a coworker today. We will be attending a seminar on Saturday afternoon at
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Oh goodie! Lousy photos to look forward to.
Your wifey's stupidity story DOES indeed top yours, although the "need for cigarettes" thing runs a very close second.
I fear you may be receiving tons more calls.
My mom's sister is a terrible drunk. When she calls, my mom often ignores the call because she knows if she picks up, she will spend the next two hours on the phone listening to mindless drunken blather.
It is very sad.
I wonder if you can sniff grout like you can sniff glue? If you can, and you do sniff it, then maybe you'll end up with a really unusual tile pattern.
Your wifey's stupidity story DOES indeed top yours, although the "need for cigarettes" thing runs a very close second.
I fear you may be receiving tons more calls.
My mom's sister is a terrible drunk. When she calls, my mom often ignores the call because she knows if she picks up, she will spend the next two hours on the phone listening to mindless drunken blather.
It is very sad.
I wonder if you can sniff grout like you can sniff glue? If you can, and you do sniff it, then maybe you'll end up with a really unusual tile pattern.
Jamie: See reply to previous entry. :) I fear there will be more calls too, but we have no tolerance for the sort of BS she wants to hand out and we aren't a source of money. I will find out if you can sniff grout -- it's water-based, but the adhesive seems not to be so we shall see if this will affect our mosaic-making. :)
Bonus fun: It turns out that the library staff has never known that particular (malodorous black wanker) patron's name, he doesn't have a card yet he's a frequent visitor. They always referred to him as Captain Underpants -- I beg your forgiveness, Dav Pilkey -- because he is one of those people who believes their pants should be at least six inches below their boxers, and story has it that when those pants would get wet he'd lounge around the library without them.
Bonus fun: It turns out that the library staff has never known that particular (malodorous black wanker) patron's name, he doesn't have a card yet he's a frequent visitor. They always referred to him as Captain Underpants -- I beg your forgiveness, Dav Pilkey -- because he is one of those people who believes their pants should be at least six inches below their boxers, and story has it that when those pants would get wet he'd lounge around the library without them.
I hope that wasn't a children's library. It sounds like a scene out of one of the St. Pauli/Reeperbahn porn shops here in Hamburg. (No I don't go there, but I heard they existed)
Every public library is a children's library. And it was a coworker's 13 year old daughter, among others, who pointed out the behavior but it has been known to happen before.
Amazing and sordid things happen in libraries. Being open to the public, with rules on the staff against getting in people's way unless they're a threat to others, leads to really odd or annoying situations.
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Amazing and sordid things happen in libraries. Being open to the public, with rules on the staff against getting in people's way unless they're a threat to others, leads to really odd or annoying situations.
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